Safe Landing
by SurlyCoach
Summary: Tami is t-i-c-k-e-d off. Eric better opt for a safe landing at home.


Tami cleared the dishes from the table. "So what are you doing for this bachelor party?" she asked Eric.

Julie was staying overnight at a friend's, and Gracie was already down for the night. Eric had gotten invited along to the bachelor party of one of the P.E. teachers over at the school. The man was thirty-eight but had finally managed to get someone to marry him. Tami didn't know how. She'd met the guy a few times. It wasn't that he wasn't much to look at - - he wasn't, but things could compensate for that. He just didn't seem to have much compensation.

"Going to the Landing Strip?" she joked.

She heard the nervous way Eric jangled his car keys and turned to look at him. He wasn't saying no. He had that _Oh, shit, I could be in trouble_ look on his face. "Eric?" she asked.

"I better get going," he said, and turned and started heading from the kitchen.

"Eric?" Her commanding voice told him to stop it right there, and he did. "You've got to be kidding me. You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"What?" He turned back round. "_You_ told me I should make more friends." Oh, the self-righteous irritation in his voice. She didn't like that tone. "I got invited, Tami. That's where they're going. It's not my thing, but what am I supposed to do about it? You want me to just call and say my wife said I can't go? I will if that's what you want."

Well, when he put it like that, he made it sound so _controlling_. "Fine. Go. But don't spend too much money. And don't expect me to be awake when you get home."

"Yes, ma'am."

As he walked out the door, Tami started scrubbing the dishes. She felt herself growing angry. Then she scolded herself for feeling angry. She _had_ told him he could go after all.

But really, how would he feel, if the tables were turned, if she was out and about with her girlfriends watching men strip? She didn't know if that comparison worked, exactly. He might just be happy she was getting turned on and then coming home. But what if she went to a club where she just got to sit across from a handsome man who gazed in her eyes and complimented her beauty and intelligence and parenting skills in poetic language for five minutes straight? How would _that_ make him feel, if she paid some guy to do that? Did he even bother to think about _that_? Wouldn't that seem a bit pathetic? Did he know how pathetic it makes a man seem to pay for some woman to pretend to be attracted to him? Did he know what a sexual turn off that was? Did he think of _that_? And what if it was his _daughter_ up there on that stage? What if it was _Julie_? Would he be okay with that? Hell no. Then isn't it just hypocrisy to go himself? Did he think of _that_? What if Tami herself got up on that stage? She almost had a mind to do it. Sneak in the back of the Landing Strip. Ask if she can make a special appearance. Just to see his face. But Gracie was asleep in the crib and she'd have to find someone to come over right now, and it's just too much trouble to execute her revenge.

She looked down and saw the yellow pieces flecking off the sponge against the plate in the sink. Apparently she'd scrubbed a might too hard.

**/ - - * - - / **

Coach Taylor sat parked outside the Landing Strip. He watched the men - - all ages and heights and classes - - filter inside. He thought about that look in Tami's eyes when he had left. He thought about what a challenge it sometimes was to get laid, especially now that they had Gracie Belle. He deserved a little harmless fun. He'd been doing a lot around the house lately - - he'd quit his job in Austin for her. Even so half the time she wasn't in the mood. Lately, she was so reluctant to hop in the sack with him, unless it was to sleep. He knew she'd been tired, knew Gracie was only a few months old, knew how hard it was to juggle home life and work and the pressure of being a coach's wife. He knew all that. But he was tired too. And he still had the energy for _her_.

He reached for the door handle, but then he didn't open it. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

Whatever Tami said, permission or no permission, she was going to be pissed if he so much as set foot inside that club. She might try to hide it - - she might not say anything when he got home, but if it was already a challenge to get laid these days - - just wait.

If he thought about, too, - - and he _did_ think about it - - she'd been pretty damn good to him over the years. She'd been faithful. She'd organized all those barbecues. She'd fed him. She'd loved him. She'd soothed him. And he was willing to bet she was a hell of a lot hotter than most of the women on that stage.

He fished in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. "Hey," he said when his fellow teacher picked up. "I'm sorry I'm not gonna make your party tonight. I'm sick. Think I'm comin' down with the flu."

/-*-/

Tami sat on the couch with her right leg crossed over her left knee. She smoothed her tight black skirt down roughly over her legs. She hadn't bothered to change out of her work clothes yet. She was a little too irritated to start winding down for bed. She'd poured herself a glass of Chardonnay, but at the moment she wasn't drinking it. She was glaring at it where it sat on the coffee table. She heard the door open and shut and turned to see Eric walk into the living room.

He tossed his car keys on the entertainment center. She hated it when he did that. Why didn't he hang them up on the key hook? That's what it was for. She was looking at the keys when it suddenly registered with her that it didn't matter if he remembered to hang up the keys. He was _home. _He was _not_ at the Landing Strip. She glanced at her silver wristwatch, the one he'd given her for her thirtieth birthday. "It's only been twenty-five minutes," she said with surprise.

He snap snapped his blue Dillon jacket open, peeled it off himself, and draped it over the back of his recliner before plopping down. He didn't recline the thing, but he put his arms on either side and rested his head back. "I didn't go," he said. "I told him I was sick."

"You did? Why?"

"Why?" he jerked his head forward. "Because I heard you loud and clear, Tami. That's why."

"What do you mean heard me? I said you could go."

"Yeah, that's what you said with your _mouth_. But with your _eyes_ you said, Eric, if you set foot in that strip club I'm going to resent you for the next eight months. How dare you even think about going in there! You no good scoundrel!"

"My eyes said no such thing," she said. "Scoundrel? Really, Eric? Scoundrel? Do my eyes use a vocabulary my mouth never uses?"

"Your eyes have an immense vocabulary, honey. _Immense_."

She felt the anger going out of her. She was a little irritated by his current tone, yes, but she wasn't really angry anymore. She was relieved. He was home. Safe at home. With her. Where he _belonged_.

"You want a beer?" she asked him, the irritated edge gone from her voice.

"That'd be nice," he said.

She got up and went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Sorry," she said when she returned. "No beer left."

"Great," he said, flipping through the channels on the TV with the remote. "Just great."

She put her hands on her hips and was about to tell him to stop his whining when she noticed how ruffled and matted his hair was. He was pretty damn cute when he was disheveled like that. He was acting ticked off, but the truth was he had come home. She hadn't told him he had to, and he had. She didn't think he'd done it just to avoid her wrath either. He loved her. He liked spending time with her, and she knew that lately she hadn't been spending enough time with him.

They'd both been busy, but maybe, she considered, she'd been neglecting him just a little bit. Maybe she'd been taking him just a little bit for granted. Just a little bit. How many other married men were invited to that bachelor's party, and how many others had called in sick? And when was the last time she'd said yes to one of his not-so-subtle hints when he crawled into bed at night? Five days? Six? Had it been seven already? Had it _really_?

She walked over and took the remote from his hand and clicked the television off.

"Hey!" he complained. "Hey! I was watching _Mythbusters_. They were just about to blow that thing up!"

She tossed the remote down atop of the entertainment center and began looking through the CDs.

"Oh, geez, Tami, you aren't going to make me listen to Beethoven and play cards are you? Not tonight. I didn't get to see any strippers. I didn't get to drink any beer. At least let me watch the Mythbusters blow something up."

She'd found just the CD she was looking for. She slipped it in and turned the music on. "Who says you don't get to see any strippers tonight?"

/-* - /

Tami started dancing slowly and sexily, the way she had when she'd wanted that house with his and her closets and had slapped the clipping up on the fridge. Only Julie had been there then and he couldn't do anything except tell her to relent - - he meant for her to relent about the house, of course, but he also wanted her to stop dancing around the kitchen like that, because it wasn't a good time to work him up. But Julie was at Lois's house tonight. Gracie was sound asleep. There was no reason to relent. Eric began to laugh. "Seriously?" he asked. "Seriously?"

He watched her. She wasn't exactly dressed for a strip club, seeing as she was still in her work clothes. On the other hand, she could be pretty damn sexy in her work clothes. Yeah, the skirt was knee length, but it was a tight skirt. And her blouse was pretty low cut. In fact, he sometimes thought maybe she dressed a little too sexy for work - - not that he would ever, ever dare suggest that to her. But she was a good-looking woman, and when she wore clothes that accentuated her virtues, well, it was no wonder all those high school boys had kept having guidance counselor emergencies.

She started to strip for him, and his smile just kept growing. When she was down to her bra and panties, she crawled into the chair and straddled him. He reached up and caressed a breast through the fabric of her bra. She slapped his hand away. "No, sir. No touching. The bouncer will have you out of here in a second."

"This is a very private club, baby. There are no rules here."

He put his hand back on her, this time on a hip, and she slapped it away again. "There are rules," she said. "_My_ rules. And if you want to play, you play by my rules."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be a good boy from now on, I promise."

And he was, for the next two and a half minutes, until he clearly couldn't stand it anymore. He stood and scooped her up and flung her over his shoulder and brought her into the bedroom. She landed with a light thud and a laugh on the bed, and he started to unbuckle his belt.

"You're not being a good boy, Eric."

"No," he said, lowering himself down over her with one arm and nipping at her throat while he jerked down the zipper of his pants. "I'm a very naughty boy."

**/-**-/**

It didn't usually take him this long to catch his breath after. She was breathing more or less normally, but he was still panting. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he muttered. Drew in a deep breath. Let it out. "Yeah, that was just…Damn, Tami. Damn."

The hot air from her giggle tickled his skin. His chest heaved again and then settled - - finally. He hugged her against himself.

"Better than the Landing Strip?" she asked.

"Well, I've never actually set foot in the Landing Strip, but I'm going to guess yes. Because otherwise they'd be doing a hell of a lot more business."

She slapped him lightly. "Eric," she scolded.

"Mhmmm..." he murmured, and settled his chin on top of her head. His mind wandered. He didn't realize he was laughing until she asked, "What are you laughing about?"

"I was just thinking," he answered. "I think Jim knew I was lying about being sick. I think he's probably sitting at that bar now with all the other guys, watching those sad strippers, and those guys are all joking and laughing about how whipped I am. And they have no idea. No idea how lucky I am to be me."

She lifted her head and kissed his lips. She let the kiss linger. When she was done, she said, "You are pretty damn lucky."

"Yes indeed."

"And not just because of tonight," she told him.

"I know. I've got a good one. All around."

"You better believe it." She lay back down. "Thanks for respecting me."

"Respecting you?"

'Thanks for respecting me' wasn't her usual line after an evening of wild sex.

"Yeah. For considering my feelings and not going."

"Oh. Well. Sorry I even considered it. I ought to have known better."

She kissed his cheek. "I love you."

"I know."

"And thanks for being so incredibly turned on," she said, "despite the stretch marks and the fact that I haven't lost all the baby weight yet."

"Shut up, woman," he muttered against her hair, and kissed her head. "You're hotter than hell. And hell is pretty damn hot."

She laughed.

"Hey," he said softly - - no jesting in his voice this time - - "You know I love you too, right? Do you know how damn much I'm still in love with you?"

"I know," she said with a smile. "I know, but keep telling me that. How about I just lie here for the next five minutes and listen to you compliment me?"

**/ AND THAT THERE'S THE END / **


End file.
